


of dirt you're made and of dirt you will return

by weatheredlaw



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence, Sibling Incest, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes like smoke out of the trees, alone, armed to the teeth, and looking like he hasn't slept in days. Gretel likes to think that without her he's wasting away. It's almost as satisfying as hitting him. </p><p>Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of dirt you're made and of dirt you will return

**Author's Note:**

> for tumblr users trollny-stark and quequieresmrmorden. thank god i didn't pay for this movie.

She thinks, as she buries her fingers in red, ruby mud, covering the backs of her hands and drying out like blood, that this is all his fault. She thinks, as a crow's guts coat her palms and shine in the candlelight, that this is only his fault. She thinks this, she knows this. 

Everything is his fault.

 

 

 _Burn 'em all_ , he'd said. How many times had he said it? How many countless times had they said it together? Had she said it first? How many times had she cleaned and wrapped his burns and whispered it, like a mantra. Words licking like flames off her tongue. _Burn 'em all. Burn 'em all. Burn 'em all._

Gretel knew, after, that he'd be unhappy. It was his way. Hansel grew into misery like children grow into winter boots. It blossomed around him wherever they went. But this. This was something different.

She thinks, as she feels the skin over her hands begin to dry and crack and bleed, that this is all his fault.

Everything is his fault.

 

 

He'd first turned from her in his not-quite-sleep, pretending to get comfortable, shoving her hands away when she tried to sew a cut or dress a wound. He never admitted to quietly and accidentally beginning to hate her and, in his own way, fear her. It didn't seem to matter, she realized, that there was supposedly some difference between her and every other witch they'd killed. To Hansel, there was only magic. Magic was what killed their mother, it was what made him sick, it was what made Gretel what she was. In the end, she realized, they were living out an unforgiving circle.

In the end, she should have known. It could only end this way. 

 

 

"If you're not gonna kill me then why the fuck are you still hanging around?"

Three weeks after they killed Muriel, Gretel turned and smacked her brother. He reeled, clutching his face and scowling at her. The kid was out getting water, Edward sleeping in the woods outside of town. Alone in their shared room, for the first time in days, she turned to him and she hit him, because that was the only language they spoke anymore. He didn't hit back -- he had never hit her and it was the first time she'd ever hit him. 

It felt good.

"Jesus--"

"Tell me. Do you want me to go?"

"Gretel, you're not--"

"You wanna burn me then _burn me._ Stop acting like you're doing me a favor by hanging around. You're crawling out of your skin! You can't stand to be near me. _You're running scared._ " He didn't deny it. He sat dejected on the tiny bed, looking small and boyish and caught. Gretel felt her face heat. "Do you want me to go?"

"No." His voice was raw. She didn't care too much. She loved her brother. But she didn't have to like him right then. 

Instead she grabbed her crossbow, slung it over her back and began throwing things into a bag. Hansel didn't move to stop her. She didn't really expect him to. 

"What are you doing?" he finally asked, standing and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"What I should have done weeks ago." 

"Everything's different now," he said, like that explained it all. She wanted to hit him again. 

"Fuck you." 

He huffed, brow furrowing as he backed away and sat on the bed again. 

She stopped packing and turned to him. "Tell me to stay." He stared at his hands. "Tell me you love me. And you want me to stay." Gretel kneeled at his feet, wedging herself between his knees. His hands trembled in her as she took them. "Tell me you want me to be here, and I'll be here." She kissed his palms, trailing her lips over the rough ridges of his fingers, tongue swirling over the pads. He didn't move. "Please." 

He didn't move when she finally kissed him, her lips still crusted in blood, matching his own. He flinched, when her tongue swept over his, and his hands gravitated to her hips, drawing her in. She snaked her arms around his neck and he spread his knees, bringing her closer. 

When he stopped, she thought it might have been different.

"I love you," he said. "But I want you to leave."

 

 

She knows she's slipping. Moons come and go and she is falling further. She aches for him and she knows he must for her. It wouldn't hurt this much if he didn't. There is a thread attached to the intricate valves of her heart, strung along through the miles of forest between them, knotted like a twin in his own. She knows he feels the tug, the unbearable weight of being alone. She knows he must. 

Gretel thinks that if he didn't, it wouldn't really be worth all this work.

She knows the only way to see him, to make him _see her_ , is the lose herself in it. In magic. She isn't concerned for the difference between light and dark. She still doesn't understand it. 

What she knows is that what she's doing is wrong. It feels _wrong wrong wrong_ deep in her marrow. 

She does it anyway.

 

 

" _It worked_ ," she breathes when she hears the familiar sound of his boots snapping branches. He comes like smoke out of the trees, alone, armed to the teeth, and looking like he hasn't slept in days. Gretel likes to think that without her he's wasting away. It's almost as satisfying as hitting him. 

Almost.

She comes at him with everything she's got, but even she knows it's not much. She's killed enough of them to know she's just child's play to him. That he could finish her off in a few minutes.

He won't even hit back. 

She screams. She kicks. She bites. She lashes out with sparks and ice and scarlet curses that hit him in the chest and send him reeling. Hansel lifts his head, drops it with a groan. Gretel hates him. Hates herself. Hates what they've become, how little time it took for them to fall to pieces.

" _Fight me!_ " she screams, using the last bit of her energy to project her voice, to send every sound wave in his direction, pressing him to the ground. "Finish this and _go!_ " When he does move she rushes him, her fingers clawing at his neck and drawing blood. 

Hansel just stares. 

He doesn't move until he finally reaches up and wraps his fingers around her wrists, tightening his hold and sitting up. Gretel screams and thrashes against him, heating her skin until she knows it burns him, until she knows he's only holding onto her because he's terrified of losing her again.

She cools down. She opens her eyes. 

"I love you," he says. "And I want you to stay."

 

 

Hansel covers her in a long cloak and pays for them to sleep in a barn up the road. He carries her up to the empty hayloft, and goes back for water, coming back to undress her with hot, steady fingers. Her skin has dried and bled in patches down her back and shoulders, and there is something vile that wants to bloom over her chest. He washes her carefully, spreading something yellow and sweet-smelling over her skin. He sets the wash rag and water aside and lays out clothes for her. Gretel ignores them. 

"Please get dressed," he whispers, voice edging on pleading. Instead she reaches for his hands and pulls him to her, beginning to undo the buckles of his jacket. He holds her hands still, staring at the space between them. She is keenly aware of every exposed inch of her skin. "Gretel."

She doesn't say anything. She kisses him instead.

He doesn't even finish undressing before she has her hand on his cock, before he's inside her, eyes pressed close and breathing coming in shallow gasps as he mouths the skin of her neck. Hansel's skin is so hot under her hands and she wants to tell him she thinks that something is wrong, but he kisses her and she loses herself. Gretel can feel hate sliding off of her like water and when his fingers reach between them, pressing still so hot against her, she feels it evaporate and she laughs as she clenches around him, as he grunts and pulls out of her, coming over her stomach and his own hand. He slumps back and this time it's Gretel who cleans, who takes the rag soaking in warm water and drags it over his belly, over her legs and his hands. She's still undressing him, wiping the rag over his skin, when he reaches out and pulls her hand away.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, reaching up and framing her face with his hands. "Get dressed. And go to sleep."

 

 

In the morning, she feels like her old self again. Hansel's snoring wakes her up, right after she realizes her arm's gone asleep trapped under his. 

"Hansel. _Hansel._ "

"S'morning. Go back to sleep."

She rolls her eyes and extracts herself from him, sitting up and feeling sore and tired and healthy for the first time in weeks. There's bread in one of the bags and a flask of water. She eats and drinks, watches her brother sleep. He comes around when she starts making noise, looking for travelling clothes and boots.

"Lemme see that back."

"I feel fine."

"Gretel."

"I'm _fine._ " He blinks, raising an eyebrow and looking unconvinced. She gives in and tugs her shirt over her head, letting him inspect her back. His hands falter over the pronounced bones of her spine, pulling back quickly. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Well get it over with then."

"No. I mean. I mean there's nothing." Gretel angles her head, trying to see. Hansel frowns, taking her hand and curving it behind her back. "Feel." 

She does. Or doesn't. There's nothing there but the smooth expanse of her skin. No pits. Nothing but her old scars. She lets her shirt drop. 

"What'd you do?" he asks gently when she turns around to face him. Gretel frowns. "I mean...I mean I know you didn't do anything...anything like...like _that._ I was there. I..." He huffs. "Did you heal yourself?"

"No. Healing was one of the first things I learned, but I didn't. Not last night." Hansel looks away. "I'm thinking something," she says quietly.

"Yeah. I'd rather you didn't."

"You're thinking it, too."

"No. I'm thinking about how we ought to get dressed, 'fore someone comes up here and finds us. I promised we'd be out soon."

"Hansel--"

He stands. "I said it's time to move. Right now, I'm in charge. We're gonna get dressed and we're not gonna ever almost have this conversation again."

"You've done this before."

Hansel narrows his eyes. "Done _what?_ "

 

 

 

They walk for three days. They do a job. Everything is like it used to be, except they're alone again. Gretel doesn't know if she likes it better. He still sleeps curled up by her bed, but sometimes she undresses herself in front of him and he lets her guide his hand where she wants him and he'll fall asleep curled like a parenthesis around her back.

That part she likes better.

He doesn't ever bring it up. Her back. The way it healed. And because he won't neither does she.

 

 

They'd heard rumors of men practicing witch craft years ago, but all their leads ended up as dead ends and Hansel would always laugh it off, grinning at the thought of a man practicing witchcraft. Gretel let him have his fun, even when she felt in her gut those first stories were true. 

They're in a town outside of Berlin when the same kind of rumor surfaces again, and Gretel's thankful she's the first and only to hear it. Hansel's paying for a room at the inn and she feels like shit because he's smiling for the first time in ages and she doesn't want to ruin that. 

She waits until after, when he's fucked her properly, when she's high and spent and teetering on the edge of happiness herself, feeling his mouth trace the curve of her breasts and the ridges of scars over her stomach. 

"You remember that month after the sea witch?"

"More like six weeks. No job, no leads, no money. Rather not, actually." Hansel pushes himself up on his elbows, grinning. "What's on your mind?"

"Remember the first lead?"

"Yeah, the burrow witch, the one that buried herself like a gopher--"

"No." Gretel sits up, covering herself with a sheet and reach out to trace the scar over his forehead. "The _first_ lead."

His expression darkens. "We don't--"

"Talk about it. I know. But we can't ignore it forever."

"Sure we can. We do it all the time."

"Would you please _listen to me?_ It's not something to be afraid of. I've been practicing good magic with the things Mina left you for weeks now, you know that it's possible. You read the same things I did. You've heard the same stories. You _know_ it's true."

"I don't know _anything_ 'cept that you got better and I'm grateful for it." He pushes himself out of bed, reaching for his pants. "I don't want to have this talk again--"

"Would you stop being so fucking afraid of yourself long enough to _understand_?"

"There's _nothing_ to _understand!_ " 

"We had the same mother! She gave you the same blessings! You're just as protected and when you found me, when you took me to that barn you _healed me_ and you know it!"

"I am not...not a...not a _witch!_ " He barely manages to say it, gagging on the word and turning away. "This is the most ridiculous fucking conversation we've ever had. I'm going for a walk."

"There's been a rumor. The same kind." Hansel stops midway through buttoning his shirt and scowls.

"You ever met a blacksmith you didn't trust?"

"Yes."

"Well." He sighs. "Gretel..."

"Trust me." Like he doesn't. Like he hasn't always. Like they have to relearn one another. 

It's so pathetic.

"Of course." He lets her pull him back to bed, head resting in the crook of her arm. "Of course I trust you."

 

 

 

In the middle of the woods, Hansel is howling her name and he's run out of bullets. He's howling her name and thrashing in the grasp of the witch and he has this look on his face like he realizes she was right the whole time and he's never going to live it down.

If he lives at all.

The man doesn't speak, hasn't spoken since they found him. A blacksmith forging tools in silence, sacrificing children to his pyre for bewitched, wicked metal. Gretel is prying a searing, angry-hot sword from around her calf, burning her fingers as it strips off her skin. All she can think about is the spell she needs to get Hansel back, but her skin is bubbling, aching and miserable. 

When she looks up, Hansel's eyes are rolling into the back of his head, but his fingers are clutching at the black cloak of the witch, unthreading it at the hem, gathering it around his hands. He focuses himself and Gretel knows she'll be singing his praises for days, after she's done playing _I told you so_ for a few more before it.

When the threads finally slice the head of the witch off, and the sword around her leg falls dead to the ground, Gretel finally manages to stand and go to her brother. 

"What happened? What--" He looks up at her with glazed eyes, the threads still biting angrily into his hands. He drops them. "What did I..."

"You killed him. That's all that matters."

"How?"

"Please stop playing this game. It's hardly becoming."

He frowns. "I don't like it."

"I do," she says as brightly as she can. "You're alive. Anything that keeps you alive is a good thing in my book."

"This is wrong."

"Not particularly." She hauls him to his feet. "You're just gonna have to get used to it."

"I'm gonna have to drown my self in the nearest river."

Gretel huffs. "Don't talk like that. Let's clean up, I'm starving."

 

 

 

"Rule one."

"You and your _rules_." Gretel flicks a piece of bread at his head, but smiles anyway. "Fine, keep going."

"We don't talk about it."

"With other people."

Hansel rolls his eyes. "Yeah, alright. With other people. Rule two." He points his knife behind him, a piece of apple speared menacingly on the end. "I'm not gettin' into any weirdo coven bullshit. And we aren't making any witch friends."

"That's two rules."

"It counts as one." 

Gretel shrugs. "Whatever."

"Rule three--"

"Rule time over." She sits up, snatching the knife out of his hand and replacing it with her fingers. "I get to make my own rule."

"I don't like this."

"You can't be mad about it." She slides into his lap, craddling his face in her hands. "You can't be angry about what you are." He closes his eyes. "You can't be mad at mother. You can't be mad at me."

"Can I be mad because you threw my apple away?"

"Yes." He opens his eyes as she kisses him, slowing drawing her tongue over his bottom lip. "You can be mad about that." 

"Can I be mad because we haven't gotten paid in three weeks?"

"You can be mad about anything you like."

"Okay." He leans back. 

She goes with him. 

Hansel smiles and closes his eyes. "You're the boss."


End file.
